Only a Bad Dream
by AdlockedMrsCumberbatch
Summary: After her experiences in Karachi, Irene Adler is haunted by a persistent nightmare, but guess who's there to comfort her? Just a fluffy little Adlock oneshot based on a scene that's been floating around my head in the last few days. T rated for mild violence. Enjoy :)


***Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or its characters, any and all rights belong to the BBC***

_The cell doors open and two figures loom over the trembling woman in the corner, malice and hatred glinting in their eyes and nothing but fear glinting in hers…We see the ordeal from her eyes, a metal bar slamming down, a fist crunching against jaw, a foot striking at her stomach, and then the world goes black…The scene changes…She is kneeling on the hard, dusty ground, dressed in a black robe, cold, alone except for the guard and the executioner… What a horrible way to go… She sends the text and then the feeling of drowning, of the water creeping higher and higher, sets in and she can't breathe, and the machete is behind her, shining in the car headlights, and her heart is pounding, and she wants Sherlock, she longs for Sherlock, but Sherlock isn't here and-_

_And then she hears the text alert... Drawn out, erotic, familiar... And the water subsides just a little... And the breath comes back to her screaming lungs... Sherlock_ is _here... But when she turns round, malice and hatred glints in his eyes too... The only thing worse than knowing you are going to die is being given the hope that you won't, then having that hope taken away again… The last thing she sees is the machete crashing down and the malice and the hatred in Sherlock-_ her _Sherlock's- eyes as he wields it, as he kills her._

Irene Adler wakes with tears in her eyes and cold sweat beading on her brow. She's had the nightmare again.

The nightmare scares her.

Not because it recounts what _actually_ happened- though that was pretty horrific, more horrific than she'll ever let on- but because it recounts what_ didn't_; it recounts her darkest fears, it brings them to life, lets them dance before her tired eyes, and she sees that cruel, terrible alternative ending. She sees the only person she has ever loved betray her. And she's always, _always _been scared of betrayal. That's why she's never grown close enough to anyone to let it happen. Alone protects her. But when Sherlock is there, she is not alone. She is exposed and vulnerable, and the thought that he might betray her is never far from her mind. And that thought plagues her now as she begins to cry, weakly and pathetically, and sobs wrack her body.

But then he stirs beside her. His arms tighten around her waist and his breath tickles the back of her neck, and he buries his face in her hair.

"Irene?" he says, in his deep baritone growl, but there is gentleness in it, and uncertainty.

"Irene, was it the nightmare again?" He asks.

She nods silently, still hiding her sobs.

Sherlock doesn't need to ask any more. He knows about the nightmare, and he knows how she feels. He too fears betrayal, and he too stays alone for protection. Irene has compromised that for him, and he'll never tell but sometimes he gets scared too. He is scared that _she _will betray _him. _Like on the Flight of the Dead. But he looks at her now, vulnerable and weak and _scared, _and he knows she will never do that to him. She needs him too much, and she loves him, though she never says it. And he loves her too, though he never says it; if they say it they finalise it, and they don't want to be weak.

But now they both show their weaknesses, because sometimes weakness makes you strong.

He strokes her back and holds her closer, and slowly she begins to quieten. She nuzzles into his chest, and she breathes him in. She reaffirms to herself that he is here, beside her, and he has not betrayed her. He has saved her.

"It was just a dream, Irene, only a bad dream." He whispers into her hair, repeating it until she believes it.

"Only a bad dream." She says to herself, and it soothes her spooked mind.

"Yes," he says softly, and then he kisses her lovingly and tenderly, so unlike his usual self. Although, his usual self has been changed by this woman, _his Woman, _and he doesn't so much mind that anymore.

When they break apart, she is tired. Drained. Sleep tugs at Irene's body, and though at first she is afraid to let it take her away, she feels Sherlock's arms around her, and his breath tickling her neck, and his face buried in her hair. So she lets herself go, because she knows that it was only a bad dream, and Sherlock is here. She knows he will probably have to leave in the morning, to go chasing after Moriarty's men again, but she isn't afraid, because she knows that if betrayal plagues her while he is gone, he is only a phone call away. And he'll pick up, whatever the time, wherever he is, and he will comfort her. She will feel his arms around her in spirit, his breath tickling her neck and his face buried in her hair, and she will hear his voice. _"It was just a dream, Irene, only a bad dream." _

And she will believe it, and it will soothe her, and she will sleep. Peaceful sleep, because she knows Sherlock is there, be it in mind or in sight, and she is saved, not betrayed.

As long as she has Sherlock, she is safe.

**A/N: Thanks for reading and please, please, please review!**


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